


gardenias for my love

by ljubavi



Series: how to befriend an assassin [2]
Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oblivious Pining, Prince Changbin, Slow Burn, assassin jisung, healthy dose of yearning, pt2 of blood red carnations
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 11:40:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30054882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ljubavi/pseuds/ljubavi
Summary: “Come on. Don’t tell me you would give up so easily in a fight.” Jisung easily knocks away a jab, twisting Changbin’s arm until his vision grows red hot. “It’s life or death, Changbin. What are you gonna do?”
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han/Seo Changbin
Series: how to befriend an assassin [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2211012
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	gardenias for my love

**Author's Note:**

> no promises about this fic ever being finished..i am just a huge fan of how the first fic played out and wanted to play with this plot a little more..
> 
> fellow enemies to begrudging allies to “we wont survive if we dont trust each other” to obliviously pining to falling in love binsungers this ones for u. please read the first fic though this is not a standalone fic
> 
> kudos & comments r good for the soul & very appreciated. i havent posted a skz fic in so long (the probability of me deleting this in the morning? Very Likely) please be nice

“Daisies?” Changbin holds up one of them towards Jisung, curled up in the palm of his hand. “They’re meant to say _I love you truly.”_

He feels at home in this meadow, in the sea of grass and the protective circle of flowers surrounding them. 

Jisung doesn’t answer, but Changbin keeps going, picking through the pile of flowers with an air of calm. “Red tulips are a declaration of love, honeysuckles are a way of saying your love is devoted, white lilies symbolize pure love. White roses represent purity.”

“Do you know any that aren’t love-related?” Changbin knows it’s strange, that Jisung is light and airy, teasing and smiling. Something feels off, like they’re both in danger and don’t realize it yet.

It’s on the tip of his tongue, there but out of reach. Changbin stares down at the snipped flowers spread around them in a pile, and he realizes he doesn’t remember cutting them in the first place or seeing them there a few seconds ago. Frowning, he looks back up at Jisung, trying to shake off the feeling that their world is tilted off of its axis.

“Love? What’s wrong wi—” His voice dies off abruptly at the sight of a bloodstain blooming— _notlikeaflower,_ he tells himself—through Jisung’s shirt. Changbin startles, dropping the remaining flowers in his hands, stumbling and tripping over his own feet in an attempt to get to Jisung’s side, to staunch the bleeding and get help.

There’s too much, Changbin can already tell. Hyunjin finally caught up with them, but Changbin does not see him anywhere. _I don’t get it,_ Changbin thinks. _What were we doing out in the open to begin with?_

“What are you doing?” Confusion laces Jisung’s voice, like he can’t see that he’s wounded. “Changbin? Is something wrong?”

Changbin’s hands are stained dark red, blood dripping from his hands, down to his wrist. From his wrist, a path follows to the pile of carnations by Jisung’s legs. Blood red. Changbin doesn’t remember seeing them earlier; he doesn’t remember seeing _anything_ before their conversation.

“You’re bleeding,” he croaks, but it’s hopeless. (Hope can be such a silly thing, cocooned in our ribcage until it blooms into a butterfly and breaks away from the anchor that holds us together). 

“Oh my god. We need help. There’s so much blood. Too much. Jisung?” Changbin’s verging on frantic at this point, pouring out all of his fear and worries into the words leaving his mouth. His heartbeat drowns out any other sound, washing him in a panic he hasn’t felt since they fled the castle together.

Jisung blinks, calm and stoic. Like nothing is happening, even though his next words cut Changbin to the bone. “It’s your fault. Don’t you see?”

Too much blood. Changbin might as well be drowning in it. He can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t _move._ All he can do is watch.

—

“Nightmare?” Jisung’s voice is weary, but he doesn’t appear too affected by the rough sleep they’ve been getting lately.

Changbin tries to hide the shaking of his hands as he packs what little belongings he has left. He runs on autopilot now, their routine drilled into his memory. “Something like that. Sorry if I woke you.”

Jisung stares at him a second too long, trying to navigate the maze of emotions Changbin is desperately trying to hide.

“You said my name in your sleep,” he admits quietly. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Changbin shoves his stupid brooch— _nothing more than a burden—_ into the only bag they took with them on their great escape from Chan’s house, wishing he didn’t think to bring it with him. It only serves as a reminder of what he can’t have. 

The weight of the carnations are even heavier in his pocket after the dream he had.

“‘M fine.” Changbin feels tears prickling at his eyes. He isn’t sure why the dream has him so shaken up. 

It is all too easy to remember that Jisung is a trained assassin, originally sent to kill him and end the royal bloodline, a mortal enemy to the crown prince and sole heir to the throne. He’s perfected the art of pressure points and the fastest ways to kill someone effortlessly, and, yet, Changbin felt a boundless amount of raw, unfiltered pain at the sight of him bleeding out. 

(Panic rises from a deep, unreachable part of him. For a second, he’s back in the dream, blood spilling over his palms and onto two red carnations on the grass, exactly alike. Jisung laughs like they aren’t drowning in his blood and asks him why he looks like he just saw a ghost).

Changbin grits his teeth, willing himself to keep the thread holding his poor bones together to not fray at the edges in the hopes that it’ll keep him going for a bit longer.

“I get it,” Jisung tells him honestly, and Changbin knows that something between them shifted after everything they’ve gone through.

They’ve been running for days—it’s all started bleeding together, the hushed whispers and static heartbeats and the crackling of underbrush as they try to outrun yet another group of assassins that refuse to call it quits—and Changbin’s dizzy from the entire experience.

(It’s what he’s always wanted, to run away from the stifling expectations and the trapped feeling the palace and royal duties gave him. He would follow Jisung to the ends of the Earth, trust him with his life despite his history and background, but, somehow, it’s different this time. Different because he has far more to lose now than he ever did in the palace).

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” Jisung’s eyes are steady, his hands not shaking in the slightest as he helps gather up the rest of their supplies. He is alive and warm and everything Changbin wishes to see after his awful dream. “God knows I do the same.”

It’s okay. Changbin’s fears are unfounded; he knows that. He cracks a careful, cautious smile through his mask of worry and zips up their pack. Tremors still shudder through his body every few seconds but they are easier to hide now. Jisung almost smiles at him from under the canopy of the forest that covers them from prying eyes, and Changbin knows that they’re going to be okay eventually, that Jisung would rather watch hell freeze over and become a barren wasteland of ice and emptiness than let anything happen to them.

The worst part of all? Changbin would too.

—

Running leaves no room for disagreements. Changbin clings to Jisung’s side like moss on a tree, wordlessly following him through the unknown.

(They have a few close calls. Changbin barely dodges a knife that whizzes past his ear and Jisung spends the better part of an hour trying to figure out where it came from to make sure they’re safe. A few days later, Jisung almost leads them over the edge of a cliff, having lost his way, and all Changbin can do is laugh at the irony of it all). 

Changbin is unraveling, like threads on a sweater if you pull at them for too long. He can’t tell if it’s the same for Jisung, who leads with grace and years of knowledge Changbin never had the chance to learn. The miles that separate them are outstretched, winding and never ending. No matter how fast Changbin runs, he cannot catch up.

His lungs have gotten used to it. He can run farther distances without cramps squeezing the breath out of him and the burning of his muscles taking over every other sense, so it’s fairly easy to match his pace with Jisung.

They’re still trying to avoid leaving behind a trail, so Jisung’s wrapped their shoes in pieces of fabric that they tore from spare clothing and told him to keep his footsteps light. It would’ve been a problem had he asked that of him a few months ago, but Changbin does it with relative ease now.

Side by side. Changbin sneaks a glance at Jisung as they run, at how he’s constantly clutching a knife in his hand and the tense, stiff way he carries himself. Changbin wishes that it wasn’t the case, that the people Hyunjin keeps sending after them would just give up already.

Mud is their best friend. Jisung skids to a stop to untie the fabric from his shoes, which Changbin does as well. 

(It’s all mechanical. He runs on autopilot and nothing else).

“We should stop before it gets dark,” Jisung tells him. “Fire’s still aren’t safe, so it’d be better if we searched for shelter with the remaining bits of daylight.”

Changbin’s joints protest the mere thought of squeezing into yet another uncomfortable place for the night, but he tries not to let it show on his face. It was either this, or lose everything and everyone he has ever known, permanently.

 _This is all temporary,_ he tells himself. _The handfuls of berries and roots of plants as meals to make our supplies last longer and the running and the deep, hollow ache inside of me that is only subdued by the rare gesture or touch from Jisung._

They break out into a run again. He expects the mud to stick to them, to cling to their worn-down shoes and sticky skin, but it barely leaves behind any traces.

“I’m tired,” Changbin admits. His voice cracks a little, but he hopes Jisung doesn’t notice.

(A subtle glance, a barely there touch of the knuckles against Changbin’s skin and a weary smile. That is what Jisung has to offer him in the moment. Changbin is grateful).

“We’ll lose them eventually,” Jisung promises. “They can’t chase us forever, after all.”

Changbin does not consider himself much of a pessimist, but he says, “You don’t know that,” regardless. He’s found it difficult to chase the positive sides of any situation lately, no matter how hard he tries to look at it with a pinch of hopefulness.

Jisung glances back at him, frowning. “You’re not usually a cynic,” he observes.

“Yeah, well, we can’t seem to lose them, so can you blame me?” Changbin mutters, trying to save his breath. 

Jisung considers this for a moment, gears spinning and clicking. Changbin is about to tell him to spit it out when realization dawns on his face, and he says: “They must’ve planted a tracker on one of us. Fuck, fuck, _fuck._ Shit. I should’ve known.”

Changbin’s mind flashes back to a myriad of encounters before he gets a chance to process the weight of Jisung’s words, specifically to the first one they had right after leaving Chan’s house. That’s when it all started, at least. They haven’t been left alone since, which means it was done by Sooyoung or the other people sent along with her.

Changbin can see Jisung’s hands moving frantically, tripping and twisting, searching the back of his neck and ears, rustling his shirt in the hopes that it magically falls out. As if he can tell Changbin is staring, he says, “You should do the same.”

Panic seeps through the cracks in his voice, and Changbin realizes that his hands are shaking. He pretends not to notice, tries to drown it out with the sound of his pounding heartbeat and the roaring of blood in his ears.

He’s exhausted enough as it is from running, but he knows why Jisung isn’t stopping. It gives way to letting whoever’s chasing them to catch up, and they can’t afford that, not when they’ve already been pushed to the brink.

Changbin follows Jisung’s methodical searching, checking behind his ears and neck, working his way to his arms. He stiffens when he feels a bump raised up from the skin under a layer of mud, near his knuckles.

(A memory pops to life like a firecracker—Sooyoung grabbing his wrist, snidely telling him to give up. Jisung yanking his arm back, ready to fight back, but she launches another knife at him and everything dissolves).

“Jisung.” He can’t bring himself to say anything else. “ _Jisung._ ” This time it’s urgent.

He scratches at the mud, holding out his arm for Jisung to look at. “Oh my g-od, Jisung. I think it’s here. How did I not notice it? Shit, shit, _shitshitshit._ Get it off.”

Jisung slows down enough to reach out for his hand, before digging his fingers underneath the offending object and _pulling._ Changbin whimpers, but doesn’t say anything as he watches Jisung chuck it in the direction they’re currently running. He thinks it might’ve blended in with his skin, which is why he didn’t notice it right away.

(The most clever hiding spots are always terribly obvious. Changbin’s been taking advantage of that, having grown up in a gilded palace with watchful eyes and the weight of his duties following him everywhere).

Regardless, a part of him knows that it’s his fault. Jisung can’t possibly think of everything for the both of them, and Changbin should’ve put two and two together earlier. Sooyoung did not grab his hand to hurt him, but he hadn’t even given it a second thought. He dismissed the entire encounter from his memory with ease, forgetting it up until now.

“C’mon. No time to waste.” Jisung veers off to the left, his fingers back to reach out for Changbin’s hand, because he’s forgotten how to move, apparently. He accepts Jisung’s hand, letting himself be pulled forward. They don’t crash through the bushes or weeds; Jisung picks out a path for them and they settle into a small ditch off to the side.

Jisung motions for Changbin to move closer to him. His knees are already cramping from crouching, but Jisung puts his fingers to his lips, signaling that they should be quiet.

Changbin presses as close to him as he possibly can, ducking his head and curling up in himself. Not even a few seconds later, he hears the sounds of twigs snapping and leaves crunching and he _knows_ that they would’ve died if Jisung hadn’t thought to check for any trackers on them.

 _Stupid,_ Changbin thinks. _I should have known better._

Voices carry through the wind, over the rustling of branches. Changbin hears one of them tell the others to hurry because it looks like they—Jisung and himself, it looks like—stopped up ahead, and that this is their opportunity.

(Jisung was right, he was right and Changbin cannot help but feel the weight of his guilt pressing against his chest, against his ribcage).

His stomach churns uneasily, and he presses his forehead to his knees, trying to keep his breathing calm and even. Almost hesitantly, Jisung presses a hand to his back, rubbing it comfortingly.

“It’s okay,” Jisung murmurs, like he can read Changbin’s mind. “You’re okay.”

Changbin takes a long, shuddering breath, and wills himself to breathe once more.

“Let me know when you’re ready. Then we can go,” Jisung whispers, and it’s enough to get Changbin to snap out of it. He’s only giving Hyunjin’s men more time to find them by balking in this ditch, which won’t do either of them any good. 

He lifts his head back up, weary and frustrated but all the more determined.

“Let’s go,” he mutters. “We should get a head start while we can.”

Changbin knows something between them has shifted when Jisung hesitates, and asks, “Are you sure?”

Oh, how far they’ve come. Changbin nods and dusts off his aching knees as he stands, waiting for Jisung to do the same.

Jisung’s hands reach out towards him, but this time it’s to slip the pack off of his shoulders. Changbin watches him put it on instead, silent and aching. He cannot bring himself to protest, despite how badly he wants to.

“To ease your burden,” Jisung says quietly. He doesn’t wait for Changbin to respond, setting off at a quicker pace than earlier.

Changbin follows after him. Wordlessly, hopelessly and full of trust.

—

“She put it on me.” Changbin breaks the silence as they run.

Jisung keeps looking straight ahead, but Changbin gives in and steals a glance at him, at the sheen of sweat on his forehead and the look of determination on his face.

“How do you know?” Jisung asks. “We’ve had plenty of encounters in between now and the time we fought Sooyoung.”

He finally looks over at Changbin, something unreadable in his expression. “That is who you’re talking about, right?”

Changbin nods. “I remembered when you yanked it off. She grabbed my hand right as she was talking to me, and I remember thinking, _It’s over, she’s gonna knock me out or kill me within a matter of seconds_ but all she did was tell me to give up. And then she let go after I refused.”

“It was my right hand,” Changbin continues, “I remember because she squeezed the life out of it and I could barely dock an arrow because of the shaking. I didn’t even think it was important.”

Jisung falls silent for a few moments. Then, finally: “You shouldn’t blame yourself.”

Changbin scowls. “I’m not like you. I’m not cautious or observant enough. I keep fucking up.”

(Undoing years of royal etiquette and manners took less time than expected. He knows exactly what his mother would say if she saw him now: _How improper to speak so foolishly and carelessly. One must treat every conversation with the utmost consideration_ ).

“God, Changbin.” Jisung’s voice is full of disbelief. “You gave up everything you’ve ever known to protect the people you care about. I think you should learn to treat yourself with a little bit of respect. The tracker is minuscule compared to your other actions and behaviors.”

Changbin tries to resist the urge to argue, to say that no, his sacrifice was not as big as Jisung makes it see and that it’s fine, he isn’t hurting that much (he’s aching, unanchored and drifting through life with only one constant: Jisung, and he refuses to admit it) but it dies in his throat.

“Do you realize what you’ve done?” Jisung’s hand reaches out to grab Changbin by the elbow, and suddenly they’re stopping. “From the palace to running from Hyunjin and then leaving Chan’s place only to have to confront one pursuer after another, you’ve kept us going.”

Changbin is finding it extremely hard to look at Jisung right now, too overwhelmed by the weight of his words. There’s a sense of urgency underlying them, the kind that Changbin wants to dissect and pick apart until nothing else is left.

“Granted, I know more about certain things than you do, but that’s okay. I can teach you how to hide a trail and you can show me that the world is not black and white in return, that it’s filled with color and more than I ever could’ve imagined,” Jisung continues, his earlier urgency replaced with something softer, calmer.

Changbin still can’t look at him. _When is the last time anyone really looked at him, past the royalty and silk suits and the insufferable duties he carries around? No one’s ever treated him like an actual person._

He almost laughs. He never expected Jisung to look past all of that, to take it apart so easily. 

Jisung pauses, taking his silence as a sign to continue. “You make me want to be better, so who cares if you didn’t realize how they were following us earlier? It’s not like I realized either; after all, it took me up until 15 minutes ago to put the pieces together. Mistakes are okay; _growing_ from them is okay.”

Changbin blinks back the sudden downpour of tears, trying to absorb everything Jisung has told him within such a small amount of time. For the first time in his life, he feels _seen._ He feels like a real, living, breathing human being and not just a title of royalty, an object to be toyed with or looked down upon.

He ducks his head away from Jisung, sniffling. _Where did the nights we spent arguing go? When were they replaced with kind words and a sense of desperation?_ Changbin doesn’t know the answer to any of his questions, but he manages to say, “Thank you,” eventually.

Jisung shrugs. “Yeah, yeah. You can thank me later, when we’re out of reach from any danger.”

“Do you think we still have a head start?” Changbin asks, wiping away any stray tears still left behind. He makes a point of not looking at Jisung, feeling oddly vulnerable around him. “Maybe stopping wasn’t the best idea.”

For a second, the sounds of the forest fill Changbin’s ears. Rustling of leaves, branches creaking. A bird croaks in the distance, and he hears an animal jump from one branch to another.

Jisung’s voice cuts through all the noise, like it’s a slab of butter and not a forest teeming with life. “Forcing you to continue going on when you very clearly needed a break would’ve been even worse. Trust me.”

 _Trust me._ Changbin thinks it’s too late; he’s already pooled all of his trust into the palms of Jisung’s outstretched hands, already placed his chances of survival on Jisung getting them through this. There’s no taking it back.

He’s taken the metaphorical plunge off the cliff, stomach rolling back into his ribcage and adrenaline pumping through every vein and artery in his body to keep him on the edge. He’s falling, deeper and deeper, without any signs of stopping.

“I trust you,” Changbin says. Left unspoken: _wholeheartedly and fully._

—

Jisung draws a hypothetical map in the dirt with a charred end of a stick. He points at a squiggly line and says, “This is us.” He draws a circle around the area where he pointed.

“Everything outside of that circle?” he asks. “Dangerous. The forest? Dangerous. The palace? Even more so. The villages surrounding the castle? Impossible.”

Changbin points towards the far right of the map, where JIsung did not draw any border separating the two kingdoms. “Estene?”

“Absolutely not.” Jisung draws an _x_ right where Changbin’s pointing, shaking his head. “If word got out that the prince was alive and hiding within the borders of Estene, Seungmin would make it his job to personally hunt you down.”

After a moment’s silence, he adds, “I, too, would be pursued. Discreetly, of course. Seungmin is quite sly, it seems.”

Changbin utters a noise of frustration, resisting the urge to brush his hand over the thin, loose layer of dirt and wipe the image away. He’s tired of staring at it.

“So what now?” Changbin asks, but there’s no edge to his voice, only a hint of hopelessness. “We run in circles? Let him convince everyone who ever knew me that I’m dead? That you’re a murderer?”

Jisung sighs. “I know it’s not the answer you were hoping to hear, but I honestly don’t have a clue. There’s no easy escape, or clear path to getting rid of Hyunjin and making everything go back to normal.”

Changbin taps his fingers against his knee incessantly, trying to figure out a solution. Hopeless, he tries asking, “What if we were able to contact Felix?”

“Even if we were, what would you say to him?” Jisung asks, without even missing a beat. “Anything you tell him would simply put him in even more danger, and I don’t think that’s what you want to do.”

“It’s not,” Changbin agrees. “I just wish I could, like, walk back into the palace, you know? Rub it in his face. Take back the life I once had.”

A pause. Jisung’s absentmindedly drawing something in the dirt. “Do you miss it?”

Changbin considers the question for a moment. He knows that the position was too stifling, too demanding and rigid, but a part of him aches for the sense of normalcy he had before Hyunjin sent them careening down the road not taken.

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “Maybe. There were definitely parts of it that I enjoyed, but they never outweighed the parts I hated.”

Jisung nods his head like he understands. 

“It was your home,” he says simply. “You’re bound to miss it.”

Changbin thinks about his words for a second, letting them sink in.

“I think you might be right,” Changbin finally says. “As much as I hated it, it was still home to me at the end of the day. I guess it’s more complicated than I ever realized.”

Jisung erases his drawing from the dirt, and starts over. Changbin thinks it might’ve been a flower—which reminds him of the ones searing into his skin from his pocket right now—but he can’t be sure. He makes a point of keeping an eye on Jisung as he draws, trying to figure it out.

“That’s how I felt, too. Before I started working for you. It wasn’t exactly pleasant, but it was all I’d known for so long that I simply stopped caring. It was a place to be. There was food, shelter. I thought it was enough,” Jisung explains. He isn’t looking at Changbin, not exactly.

Changbin nods regardless. “You try to convince yourself that it’s okay, that even a broken home can do, but you don’t ever really notice that a bandaid over a gaping wound isn’t enough to stop the bleeding. And then one day you’re waking up and realizing that this is not what you wanted, that it is not a home.”

Jisung is quiet for a count of three. Even the stick in his hand freezes, unwavering.

Then: “We are more alike than we think. Like two sides of the same coin.”

Changbin’s response is slow coming. He picks up a piece of a broken branch, and draws the second carnation to match the one Jisung has drawn. It can’t be a coincidence, but Changbin doesn’t ask about it.

Instead, Jisung does. “Why did he give them to you? I didn’t want to pry, but I can’t help it anymore. You always seem so shaken up whenever the subject is mentioned.”

Changbin pulls the carnations out of his pocket, already flattened and parts of them starting to crack from the days wearing down on them.

“He gave me a choice,” Changbin starts. “Let him fix the problem, or resolve it my own way. When I didn’t agree to send you his way, he gave one to me.”

Changbin presses them from one palm to another, anxious and full of nervous energy. He hadn’t expected to talk about Seungmin today, not like this.

“Seungmin told me that he aches for me, and the path that I have chosen,” Changbin continues. “That’s what carnations symbolize: aching.”

Jisung frowns, hesitating slightly before speaking up. He’s more cautious and withdrawn than when CHangbin first met him. “Is that true?”

Changbin nods. “He thinks I’m too attached to you, so his heart aches for me and the road I’m taking. I don’t know. He was pretty dramatic about it, but he made his message clear: I made the wrong choice, and he’s mocking me for it.”

“Why do you carry them around, then?” Jisung asks. “Why didn’t you throw them away? It’s not like he said you _have_ to keep them.”

Changbin considers his question carefully, trying to figure out why he carries them. Truth be told, he hadn’t really broached the subject yet. Not until Jisung brought it up, at least.

“I guess they’re a reminder,” he finally explains. “A reminder of the decisions I made, the ones that I have always stood by.”

A pause. “Like staying by your side, for example.”

“Oh.” Jisung glances down at the two carnations etched into the dirt. “So you turned something unsettling into something good, more positive. You seem to be pretty good at doing that.”

Changbin shrugs, the gesture now familiar to him after all the time he’s spent around Jisung. “I just want to prove him wrong. I want him to know that choosing your side wasn’t a mistake, that I don’t regret it, that I’d do it all over again if given the chance.”

Jisung sucks in a breath, a little too sharply and suddenly Changbin’s looking at him all over again. _How far we have come,_ he thinks silently. _I feel like the Jisung I first met is a completely different person than the Jisung I know right now._

“Do you mean that?” Jisung asks. He blurs out the drawing once more, the petals disappearing under the shift of the branch. Changbin watches them disappear, wishing he could do just that: erase the past, rewrite the future. Align the stars of their destiny a little differently, just enough to change the road ahead and what lies in wait for the both of them.

He thinks that in another world, another universe, things might have gone differently between them. 

Changbin nods eventually. It’s all too easy for him to lose track of a conversation these days, to wander through his mind in circles until he’s dizzy and breathless and falling back on Jisung for moral support.

“Of course.” Changbin starts etching another drawing into the dirt. “Seungmin doesn’t know you the way I do.”

The curve of a petal. A long, narrow stem. Changbin has every part of it memorized, drawing it fairly quickly. It’s basically muscle memory to him.

“Just how do you know me?” Jisung asks quietly, like he’s been waiting ages to pose the question to him. Changbin wouldn’t be too surprised if that was the case.

Changbin thinks about it for a thoughtful moment, mulling over his question. In front of him, a gardenia comes to life in the shape of dirt, a symbol of trust, the fragile bridge that keeps Changbin connected to Jisung. 

He finishes one last wobbly petal, and says, “In a _we have no one but each other so we gradually learn to trust each other over time_ kind of way, I guess. I don’t know how else to put it.”

Jisung smiles a bit. He points the branch in his hand toward Changbin’s drawing.

“Sounds about right. Are you gonna give me the entire backstory to that flower, or am I gonna have to figure it out all by myself?” He’s teasing him now, a mix of seriousness and joking all in one sentence.

Changbin nudges Jisung slightly. The future may be uncertain, but this is something he can cling to, something he understands. Whatever waits for them after this can wait. For now, Changbin will sit by Jisung’s side and explain to him the meaning behind gardenias.

(Trust. They represent trust and Changbin doesn’t say it out loud, but it’s the sort of trust he’s reserved for Jisung ever since his world was flipped upside down. Maybe Jisung puts the puzzle pieces together regardless, because he doesn’t let Changbin erase the drawing when he’s done explaining).

“Just leave it,” he murmurs. “We deserve a bit of beauty, too. No one has to know we left it behind.”

For now, they are at peace. Safe, and hidden from the outside world. Changbin decides to cherish it for as long as it lasts.

—

Jisung grabs his arm, and Changbin knows he’s done for, that he’ll get slammed into the nearest tree within half a second. Jisung’s breath is warm against his neck as he pauses. Changbin braces himself for the impact, squeezing his eyes shut.

When nothing happens, he relaxes, surprised. 

“You have two options from here. Name them,” Jisung tells him. His grip is ironclad, keeping Changbin rooted in place. 

Changbin grunts, struggling against Jisung’s touch, but he doesn’t budge at all. Finally he says, “I elbow you in the ribs, leaving my chest exposed, or I let you slam me into the ground and hope it hurts less than option one.”

“Correct. Now tell me, what’s the best option?” Jisung questions, like he’s nothing more than a tutor and Changbin’s explaining the right way to solve a problem.

Changbin doesn't answer, but he manages to ram his elbow deep into Jisung’s rib cage, and brings his other hand up to cover his chest. Jisung beats him to it, grabbing him by the wrist and flipping him to the ground. His wrist aches immediately, and the rest of the pain is delayed by half a second, but it hits him right after.

Knee pressed against his chest. Hands on either side of his head. Changbin thinks it’s time to accept defeat.

“Not fast enough, but you made the right decision.” Jisung gets off of him, and Changbin sucks in a lungful of air, gasping a little. He rolls over onto his side, coughing. 

“God,” he gasps, pausing to breathe a little. “You’re such a fucking brute sometimes.”

The language is foreign on his tongue, virtually unheard of before he met Jisung, but Changbin thinks he’s long since left behind the only life he has ever known, that he’s a different person as well.

Jisung grins, a sight Changbin is only treated to on rare occasions. Like on the days they spar, when the forest is every silent and no knives are whizzing past them, followed by near-invisible darts and the sounds of footsteps crushing leaves on the forest floor.

He feels at ease, despite the fact that Jisung knocked the air out of his lungs and is waiting for him to get up so that they can continue.

“We don’t have all day,” Jisung reminds him, hurriedly gesturing for Changbin to get up. “You’re getting better, but if you don’t want someone like Sooyoung planting a tracker on you again, you need to push yourself even more.”

Changbin nods in agreement, pushing himself up into a sitting position. “I know. It’s just frustrating. You’re too good, and I’m not learning fast enough. Not yet, at least.”

He takes another deep breath, managing to finally stand up. The wind tickling at his skin is cool, providing him with a brief reprieve.

“Enough of that,” Jisung scolds, managing to pull him out of his own mind. “You’ll never get anywhere if you keep comparing yourself. Yeah, I’m better than you. We both know that. But that’s not important. What’s important is you being able to hold your own against enemies.”

He pauses. “I’m going to ask you this only once. Are you ready to try again?”

Changbin doesn’t hesitate, not this time. 

“I am,” he answers. “On the count of three?”

—

Every plan they come up with doesn’t work. They’re outmanned, outpowered, and cornered in every way possible. Changbin finds himself growing more and more frustrated, while Jisung appears wearier and wearier as the days drag by.

It’s difficult to find a perfect solution, or one without any glaring flaws. Most of their plans are impossible to go through with simply because they don’t have the numbers to attack anyone, let alone a person like _Hyunjin._

Changbin, too, starts losing sleep. He stays up running through an endless stream of scenarios and _what-if’s_ , trying to find a good solution to their predicament. Running cannot be permanent. He doesn’t think either one of them would be able to do that forever, let alone without any outside help at all.

(He finds himself thinking about Chan, and the help he offered them before they left. Maybe Jisung should’ve taken it, after all).

Changbin doesn’t like the idea of owing Chan any favors though, so he forgoes the thought almost as quickly as it came to him. Instead, he dwells on Chan’s safety, wondering what happened after they left in such a hurry.

“Do you think Chan is okay?” Changbin blurts out, before he can stop himself.

Jisung considers the question for a moment, his face barely discernible in the fading twilight of the night sky. He glances over at Changbin, clearly surprised by the suddenness of it.

“Probably.” Jisung stirs from where he’s leaning against the wall of rock shielding them from any enemies. It curves around them, giving off a sense of safety. “He was at the top of his field, you know. Back when he was still...practicing. If anyone could take down Hyunjin, my bets would be on him.”

Changbin ponders his response, realizing there’s far more to dissect than he previously assumed.

“I wish he could’ve come with us,” Changbin finally says. “Even if it was just the three of us, we’d stand a far better chance against Hyunjin with him.”

Then, “Do you think we could’ve convinced him to come? With us, I mean.”

Jisung shakes his head, a flash of sadness washing over his face for a split second. Changbin almost misses it, the crestfallen slump of his shoulders and downturn of his lips.

“If you thought me and Hyunjin had bad blood after our last meeting, it’s nothing compared to what's between him and Chan,” Jisung admits, offering him another piece of his mysterious background. Changbin wordlessly accepts it. “I think Hyunjin would kill him on the spot. No questions asked.”

“I don’t exactly know everything, but Chan betrayed Hyunjin at some point. Took out a different guy than who they were paid to kill. He never explained why—something about the guy being innocent—but I know he must’ve had a reason for it. Chan is too meticulous to do something so carelessly,” Jisung explains.

Around them, night is taking over. The sky is inky black and drowns out any stars. Jisung agreed to start a fire in order to stay warm, but only if they douse it before falling asleep.

He pauses. “I guess I betrayed Hyunjin too. He’d probably do the same thing to me if I ever showed my face in front of him again. Me and Chan aren’t that different.”

“As if I’d ever let him,” Changbin retorts, but it’s wishful thinking. He barrels forward regardless. “He’d have to get through me first.”

“Yeah?” Jisung’s got a curious look on his face, eyebrow raised and lips twitching to hold back a smile. “You really think so?”

Changbin deflates, shaking his head. “Of course not. It’s nice to think about though.”

Jisung smiles, barely noticeable through the flames flickering between them. In fact, Changbin almost misses it, catching the up-turned corner of a smile at the last second.

“Who knows?” Jisung flicks a rock away from his side, and it skids towards Changbin instead. “Every opponent has a weakness. Maybe you’ll be the first to find Hyunjin’s.”

“What’s mine?” Changbin asks quietly. “My weakness.”

Jisung pokes a branch at the fire separating them, trying to stoke the fire and coax it into staying alive.

“Showing mercy,” he finally says, looking up at Changbin this time. “Tell me. If you had Hyunjin in a chokehold or restrained in some way, and he begged you not to kill him, would you do it regardless?”

Changbin can’t answer that, because he knows that Jisung is right. That Changbin would rather let him live and throw him in a cell for the rest of his life if he had the power. Jisung’s pinned him down and he doesn’t even know how.

Jisung says it for him. “I know you would let him live. I know for a fact that Chan wouldn’t. I let him live last time, but if I saw him again? Who knows?” 

He drops the stick by his side, one end charred black. The flames are still flickering, but they’re weaker now, providing less warmth.

“I don’t know. You’re probably gonna argue that there’s strength in showing mercy. That it’s honorable or whatever they taught you in the palace,” Jisung continues. “But let me ask you this: would Hyunjin show you mercy if he was in the same situation?”

Changbin doesn’t even have time to respond before Jisung’s interjecting. He swallows the storm of barely strung together words and listens instead.

“I know, I know. It’s not fair to compare you two, but you wouldn’t say that if you knew for sure that Hyunjin would show you mercy.” Jisung picks up the charred stick again, not meeting his eyes. “We like to twist stories in our favor. But I guess it doesn’t really matter. You seem to be set on keeping Hyunjin alive.”

He pauses, allowing Changbin to finally take the chance to speak. He knows Jisung is right, but he can’t shake the urge to fight against it, to prove that Jisung can’t figure him out so easily.

“Maybe you’re right. I am too merciful, even after what he did to you,” Changbin admits. “But I think it’s also one of my strengths, like two sides of the same coin.”

Jisung scratches at the ground with the stick. He’s drawing again, but Changbin can’t focus on that right now.

“Yeah. I think that’s part of what I admire about you. You know how to be the bigger person, how to step back and not bite off more than you can chew.” His expression is hidden by the shadow of the flames, but Changbin can make it out after a few seconds pass by. “I wish I could do that.”

Changbin thinks he must’ve misheard, because the Jisung he knows would never admit to something like that. On second thought, he remembers how Jisung called the palace a home and thinks it makes more sense than he first considered. Not everything is as black and white as it seems. Jisung is a shade of grey Changbin has never encountered before and he’s learning as each day passes by.

“And I wish I could be a little more ruthless, less of a pushover.” Changbin takes over, fanning the flames quietly. A star has appeared in the depths of the sky. It looks as if it could be engulfed by the inky darkness any second now. He tries not to think about it. “No one is perfect. We all carry a bit of envy with us.”

Jisung falls quiet, and Changbin can’t tell if it’s because he has nothing else to say or because he doesn’t know what to say anymore. He decides not to take it to heart, and shovels dirt onto the flames of the fire instead, snuffing it out. He should’ve done it ages ago, all things considered. Jisung doesn’t comment on the growing darkness, and the hollow of Changbin’s heart feels a lot smaller than it did before.

Perhaps Jisung is thinking about how the wrong amount of ruthlessness can blur the line, how Hyunjin is so far past it that they can’t see him anymore. Mercy and ruthlessness are two sides of a coin and Changbin cannot tell which is worse.

The flames flicker before him, tinder crumbling to ashes. He watches, transfixed by the sight. Jisung doesn’t say anything else.

—

Jisung pushes him to the limit, strains every muscle fiber and nerve ending time after time. Changbin gets better eventually—punches are easier to dodge and his next moves are more predictable—but he doesn’t know what good it’ll do him.

They’re stuck, floundering in a vacuum they cannot escape. No plan, no schedule or idea of where they go next. Instead, Jisung ducks under Changbin’s outstretched arm and twists it behind his back. Pain flares up, fire hot and scorching.

Jisung smiles. “In a real fight, your arm would’ve been broken by now.”

“Yeah? They could always be merciful.” Changbin elbows Jisung in the ribs with his free hand, narrowly missing. It’s enough for Changbin to squirm out of his grip. “Or I could outsmart them.

Jisung shakes his head, reaching up with one hand to wipe the sweat off of his forehead.

“Mercy is wishful thinking. They’re more likely to break your arm in three different places and drag your body to Hyunjin,” he bites back. Changbin thinks there’s a hint of teasing somewhere between the seriousness and urge to survive, but he can’t exactly tell.

Jisung side steps, and throws another punch. Changbin mistakes it for a stomach shot, and blocks his abdomen in anticipation, earning him a solid hit to the jaw. He stumbles backwards a bit, caught off guard.

He doesn’t have time to think about the pain right now. Changbin closes his hand into a fist and aims for Jisung’s rib cage. He lunges, and comes up with nothing more than empty air. Jisung is too quick, too observant. He always sees Changbin coming from a mile away.

“You’re too obvious,” Jisung tells him, like it isn’t a glaring flaw in Changbin’s fighting approach. “Whenever I leave my abdomen exposed, you try to punch me in the same place. Try to think about it differently.”

Changbin grits his teeth, frustrated. He isn’t exactly sure what Jisung is getting at, but he settles back into a fighting stance and tries to be more observant.

Jisung circles around him, and Changbin follows, making note of his hand placement and trying to predict what his next moves will be. Jisung breaks the silence, lunging forward with a grunt. Changbin ducks, narrowly avoiding a jab to the face. At least he can avoid the shots on occasion. 

Jisung doesn’t let up, resorting to a dangerous combination of both punches and kicks that has Changbin dancing around their narrow training area, unable to outsmart him this time. Changbin keeps pressing back, trying to get some space between them, but Jisung keeps pressing forward.

“Come on. Don’t tell me you would give up so easily in a fight.” Jisung easily knocks away a jab, twisting Changbin’s arm until his vision grows red hot. “It’s life or death, Changbin. What are you gonna do?”

The red slowly fades, even though Jisung hasn’t let go yet. Changbin uses it as an opportunity to knock his knee into Jisung’s chest, trying to kick the air straight out of him.

He takes Jisung’s distraction to his advantage, easily maneuvering him into a chokehold.

“You said it’s life and death,” Changbin pants, trying to catch his breath. He can’t tell how long they’ve been going at it, but he’s exhausted. It’s difficult to pin Jisung down long enough for it to be considered a win.

Jisung smiles. “You’re right.”

A split second later, Changbin’s arms go numb without any warning. Jisung flips the switch on him easily, and now Changbin’s pinned down by him yet again. 

His back slams into the ground with a loud _thud,_ and Jisung hovers above him. Knees on either side of his legs. Changbin can’t move.

“Pressure points,” Jisung explains, a little too close to Changbin’s face. That air of cockiness from the palace is back. “Useful, aren’t they?”

Changbin grunts, annoyed that he managed to get overpowered again. He isn't too keen on blaming himself this time—Jisung didn’t teach him about pressure points.

“Not if I don’t know about them. It’s easy to have an advantage that way,” Changbin mutters, hinging on annoyance.

Jisung cocks his head to the side. “Yeah, but now you’re going to use that advantage. Maybe overpower Sooyoung and her little band of lackey’s next time. Chances are, they don’t know about pressure points.”

He leans back, climbing off of Changbin. He dusts himself off, and then holds out a hand for Changbin to take. The numbness—Changbin doesn't know how else to describe it—has faded by now, so he accepts.

“Anything’s game in a fight,” Jisung continues. “It’s not like a ref’s gonna tell you whether or not a particular move is illegal, right? Some people will play dirty, so you might as well do it back.”

Changbin frowns. “I don’t think it works like that.”

Jisung doesn’t seem to be paying attention anymore, dismissing him with a wave of a hand.

“I think we practiced enough today. It’s time to start moving again.”

—

Changbin starts running, no questions asked. His feet slam against the marbled floors and strain with every step, but to no avail. He is rooted in place, moving but without any real progress.

Hyunjin’s smile is sickly sweet as he draws a line of blood down Jisung’s neck with a knife. “You’re next, you know.”

Panic flares up his throat, searing and urgent. He keeps running, even though the distance to Jisung never shrinks, even though the walls of Changbin’s study are not some great distance that he cannot cross. Maybe if he presses forward and pushes himself to the limit, he’ll start making progress.

Stuck. Changbin is stuck in place and Jisung could be dead or dying soon, and there is nothing he can do about it. Jisung _needs_ him, and Changbin cannot do a single thing about it. He is powerless.

Powerlessness is a weighted feeling. He cannot do anything but he still tries, tries to narrow the stretch of floor separating them as Hyunjin traces a path on Jisung’s skin with his knife. Eventually, the landscape melts away—right as Changbin starts crossing the space separating them—to reveal a cloudy sky and a field full of cut carnations.

Confused, Changbin reaches out to grab one of them. A scream lodges in his throat at the sight of blood dripping from the petals. They’ve been painted red with blood, made to look like the ones Hyunjin and Seungmin gave him, but he cannot escape them. Everywhere he turns, there is a pile next to him, strangely menacing and haunting.

Blood stains the stems, something he didn’t notice at first. 

It all builds up, the panic and sheer confusion—the river of anxiety and downpour of uneasiness—until he’s jolting awake to Jisung nudging his shoulder with a puzzled look on his face.

“Everything okay?” Jisung’s expression is difficult to read now that he’s blinked the sleepiness away. “I think you were having another bad dream.”

Changbin’s glad that Jisung cannot see the way his hands are shaking right now. Even so, he still attempts to disguise it by squeezing them into fists by his sides.

“Oh. I’m fine,” Changbin lies through gritted teeth. It slips out too easily. There’s not much of a point in admitting anything. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

Jisung is silent long enough for Changbin to assume he fell back asleep. He’s debating on doing the same when Jisung says, too quietly, “I have them too. It’s not just you, if that’s what you think.”

A grain of comfort. That is what Jisung is offering him: the simple feeling that he is not alone in the blurred together nightmares and the stubborn uneasiness that refuses to leave his side.

Changbin’s hands unfold. Carefully. Gently. They are no longer shaking.

“I don’t understand.” He lets his eyes fall back closed, washing him in a darkness he cannot swim out of. “I’ve never had nightmares before. Why now?”

(The answer comes to him the second the words leave his mouth. It’s not as if the events that have transpired since he left the castle with Jisung have been anything but awful).

“I think it’s pretty obvious, no?” Jisung’s almost amused as he answers. “What with the whole Hyunjin debacle and being pursued by people who want us dead.”

Changbin keeps his eyes shut, but he says, “Yeah. I figured that one out as soon as I asked. It’s just annoying, I guess. I went from a perfectly fine sleep schedule to Hyunjin terrorizing my dreams.”

Jisung laughs, even though Changbin is a bit shaken up. “Guess he got tired of haunting me and switched over to your dreams instead. Maybe he’ll get bored of you, too. Who knows?”

—

Jisung stops, holding out a hand so that Changbin does the same. It just barely hovers above his shirt, fingertips brushing against it every few seconds or so.

He cocks his head to the side, as if listening for sounds Changbin cannot possibly hear.

“Someone’s following us. Sounds like more than one person.” A statement, not a question. Changbin believes him the second he says it, even though he doesn’t outright hear anything.

Jisung glances back at him, that cocky smile back on his face. “Remember what I taught you.”

Changbin doesn’t respond, but he strains his ears, listening for the telltale signs of them being followed, and is rewarded by quiet rustling and the sound of feet hitting the forest floor. Quiet, but loud enough for the both of them to hear. Changbin smiles.

“So what next?” Changbin whispers, shifting on his feet uneasily. “They don’t sound far away.”

Jisung pulls a knife out from inside of his shirt sleeve, a familiar glint in his eyes as he hands it to Changbin. “We wait for them to catch up.”

Changbin accepts the knife, watching as Jisung pulls out another one from the depths of his shirt. He’s stopped questioning how Jisung manages to carry so many weapons at a time without harming himself.

“And when they catch up?” Changbin’s fingers curl around the knife, trying to keep it secure. _A firm grip is a good grip._

Jisung spins the knife in his hand. “Simple. We see why they thought following us was a good idea. You ready?”

Changbin nods, even though he isn’t too sure. It’s not like anything would’ve changed if he said no—Jisung can’t call off whoever’s following them, so he stifles any lingering unease and tries to maintain a calm demeanor. 

Jisung, however, shows no signs or cracks of his facade falling apart. Everything about him screams relaxed, from the slight smile on his face to the curl of his shoulders.

Changbin tunes back in the sounds of the forest, realizing that the person (or people, according to Jisung) is getting closer. He braces himself, unconsciously slipping into a fighting stance in case of any danger.

They have no choice but to wait it out.

—

“What’s your problem?” Felix asks Chan, arms crossed in front of his chest and a basket of goods on the ground next to him.

The depths of the forest surround them, engulfing their presence and swallowing them with endless tree branches and dense bushes.

Chan glares at him, a flash of irritation sparking through his chest, popping to life at Felix’s bluntness. (He can’t tell him that he’s been wracked with guilt ever since he pointed them to the escape tunnel and packed up what little was left of his life).

“I don’t have a problem,” Chan responds. Too calm, too relaxed. He’s convinced Felix can see straight through him. No one has ever managed to read him so easily.

Felix nods, but he is not convinced by Chan’s answer. “What are you doing here, then?”

Chan shrugs. “Oh, you know. Hashing out a plan to find a certain pair of people. I sort of abandoned them in a moment of cowardice.”

Felix stares at him, unblinking. 

“You sound ridiculous. And like a dick,” he finally points out. Chan can’t exactly argue with that, not when he knows Felix has a point. “How could you abandon them?”

Chan bites the inside of his cheek, unsure of how to answer. Part of him had thought it was for the best—he’s one of Hyunjin’s targets, too. He had to think about himself, no matter how much it pained him to do so.

“I thought it was the right choice,” Chan admits. “If I went with them, he would never give up. I’m the only person he wants dead more than the two of them combined.”

The harsh lines between Felix’s eyebrows soften, and Chan can’t help but wonder if he would believe any story Chan feeds to him.

 _No,_ he thinks. _Changbin_ _picks better friends than that. I’m sure of it._

Felix leans against the trunk of a tree, a sliver of hair falling across his forehead and a curious sort of gleam in his eyes.

“Is that so? Sounds like an interesting story; you’ll have to tell it to me sometime,” he says simply, but Chan gets the impression that it is more out of politeness than anything. “That still doesn’t explain why you’re here.”

Chan hesitates. “That’s the thing. I might have a plan, and I need your help. Are you interested?”

—

The first thing Changbin notices is that Jisung was right. Two people breach the brim of the forest and enter the field they’re standing in, no signs of weapons or anything else that could be incriminating. A quick, secondary glance leaves him shaken to the core.

“Is that—” Changbin cuts himself off, shocked. He tries again, his voice shaking slightly. “Jisung? Is that who I think it is?”

Jisung is as pale as a sheet, much to Changbin’s surprise. He’s never seen Jisung thrown off guard before, not even when Hyunjin came for them in the palace. Changbin, too, is frozen, unsure of what to do or say anymore. 

(It’s nerve-wracking, the shakiness with which Jisung holds himself).

The two figures start approaching them slowly, hands raised and expressions too even, too calm.

Changbin starts fidgeting the closer they get, noticing that Jisung isn’t budging.

“Um, should we say something? Ask if it’s really them?” Changbin whispers. He’s loosely holding the knife in his hand now, not all too worried about how the situation is going to go.

That seems to snap Jisung out of it, mask reappearing and shaking fading as he calls out, “Name yourselves.”

The figure to the left halts to a stop, and Changbin cannot tear his eyes away. _Is it really you? Or am I simply dreaming?_

“C’mon, Jisung. You know me,” The person on the right— _Chan,_ Changbin thinks happily, his heart squeezing—responds breezily, motioning for the other person to continue walking. “And Felix knows the both of you.”

Changbin blinks rapidly to avoid the onslaught of tears threatening to pour down his cheeks, glancing over at Jisung to see if he’s finally accepted the fact that Chan and Felix are standing before them.

“Jisung,” he pleads. It’s taking an awful lot of willpower for Changbin to stay rooted in place, to not run towards Felix, the only sense of familiarity he has felt in weeks. 

Jisung looks over at Changbin at the sound of his name, and for a split second, the expression on his face thaws out, softening. 

“Asshole,” Jisung says, looking back towards Chan. His voice cracks a little, but it’s loud enough for all of them to hear. “I thought it was just me and Changbin. To the end. I hate you.”

His voice cracks again, betraying him. Chan and Felix finally approach the two of them, and Jisung’s face crumples for a brief, shocking second.

Changbin looks away, and finds a tearful Felix staring at him. He’s suddenly blinking back tears again, but before he can even bring himself to say anything, Felix barrels into him. Pulls him into a bone-crushing hug that is painfully silent but equally loud, and Changbin relaxes into it, burying his face in the crook of Felix’s neck.

(Affection comes easier after he’s tasted death, after so many days on the run and having to look behind his shoulder every so often).

He didn’t think he would ever see Felix again and yet, here he is. Warm and alive, right in front of Changbin. A part of him doesn’t believe it.

Teardrops collect on his lashes when Felix lets go, making them heavy. 

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Felix tells him. “I’ve been worried ever since Chan came to see me the first time. We almost got into a fight because he wouldn’t let me go see you.”

Changbin sniffles, slightly embarrassed by the lack of control over his emotions, but he doesn’t care. Part of him had been expecting the worst, that there was another tracker planted on them that they hadn’t gotten rid of. He thought they would have to fight again, something he wasn’t exactly looking forward to.

Felix cracks a smile, the one Changbin’s seen from him in over a month and the dam inside of him bursts open too easily. 

—

“I left for the village as soon as you guys went through the tunnel,” Chan explains. “I didn’t plan on it, but I managed to pack up anything that could’ve connected the house to my identity before leaving.”

Jisung shakes his head, clearly in disbelief. “I still can’t believe it. I never would’ve guessed that you would come out of hiding, let alone come after me and Changbin. And Felix! God, this is batshit crazy.”

Changbin nods in agreement, knees tucked to his chest comfortingly and Felix sitting right by him. Chan and Jisung are on the other side of the fire, albeit farther apart than Changbin and Felix.

“Believe me, I was pretty surprised to see Chan again,” Felix admits. “Thought he was gonna try to weasel information out of me.”

“Did he?” Changbin blurts out. He fidgets with his hands nervously, not sure if he really wants to hear Jisung’s answer. “I mean, any updates since we last heard from you?”

Felix pauses. “Not really. They, um, had a funeral. You know who gave this really gross speech about finding whoever did it. Definitely killed the mood and pissed me off.”

“Oh. Yeah. Sure. Sounds about right.” Changbin falls back against the ground, planting his hands on his face to cover it. “I’m dead, and the worst person I know is pretending to avenge me. Cool.”

An awkward cough. Felix pats his shoulder comfortingly, and Jisung says, “We’ll fix it somehow. Hyunjin can’t just do whatever he wants. That’s not how this works.”

“I mean, Hyunjin _does_ hold a lot of power,” Chan interjects. “How else do you think he’s managed to be a thorn in my side for so many years?”

Jisung raises an eyebrow. “What made you say _enough is enough_ and leave the safe house?”

Chan shrugs in response, not exactly meeting Jisung’s eyes. He’s picking at a thread on his shirt sleeve, pretending to be occupied. Felix is silent next to Jisung, but his eyes are on Chan, watchful and curious.

“I don’t know. Boredom, maybe,” Chan finally answers. “I don’t like the idea of living under someone else’s thumb for the rest of my life either. Consider yourselves lucky. If you hadn’t come to me, I wouldn’t have left.”

Changbin mutters, “I _asked_ you to come with us. You could’ve saved some time by agreeing then and there.”

Chan gestures towards Felix, smiling despite himself. “I couldn’t exactly leave him behind, could I?”

The fire between them crackles and pops, embers flying from the flames every once in a while. Changbin throws a broken branch from their pile of firewood into the flames when they start dipping too low.

“How did you even find us?” Changbin asks quietly. “Jisung was extra careful.”

Jisung frowns, tracing imaginary shapes into the palm of his hand instead of looking up at them. “I thought I was, at least. Looks like I was wrong.” He _tsk’s,_ annoyance flashing across his face.

(Changbin understands his subdued mood now. If Chan found them, then what’s to stop from Hyunjin doing the same?)

“Oh, he sure was careful,” Chan responds, lighthearted and calm. “You wouldn’t know he even left a trail behind unless you know to look for it.”

“Like Hyunjin,” Jisung grumbles. He’s not looking at any of them again.

Felix tries to offer words of comfort. “Well, now there’s more of us, right? So it’ll be easier to fight or get away from anyone sent after us. It’s okay, Jisung. We’re here to help.”

Chan pats Jisung’s shoulder. “You did good, all things considered. No point in dwelling on it right now.”

Changbin is too far away to offer a simple gesture in the form of touch, but he aches for Jisung nonetheless. Aches to ease his burden and offer even a crumb of reassurance, to lessen the weight of worry resting on his shoulders.

He stays put, watching the slanting lines of Jisung’s face crease, and wishing he could do more.

—

“You don’t have a plan?” Chan’s usual demeanor melts into shock, and Changbin winces. Their brief rest to eat is taking a sharp turn, much to his dismay.

Jisung glares at him. “They’re all dangerous. Just ask Changbin—we spent hours discussing it from every angle. I couldn’t find a solution that wouldn’t end with no casualties or injuries. Besides, our odds weren’t that great because there were only two of us.”

“Would you risk it now?” Chan asks, his shock replaced by a cold determination. He uses his finger to draw a map in the dirt, drawing them as a team and marking the palace with an ‘x’ nearby. “There’s four of us so far.”

Changbin interjects before Jisung has a chance to respond. “So far? What does that mean?”

Felix throws him a cautious look, but he’s smiling a bit. “Chan thought of a plan before he came to me. I think it’s our best bet.”

“Oh. Then what are we waiting for?” Changbin glances back at Chan, curious. “Tell us about it.”

Chan hesitates, much to Changbin’s surprise. “Maybe we should go over the plans you and Jisung discussed first.”

Jisung sighs, but he doesn’t object. He sets his water off to the side, and draws a line connecting them to the palace.

“This is the most obvious one: we make our way inside with brute force and nothing else. Of course, that would mean they’d see us coming. Chance of injury is much higher, too. It requires the least amount of preparation though.” Jisung brushes away the drawing with little grandeur, already dismissing it.

They discussed that option at length, trying to find an angle that wouldn’t result in their utter demise. Changbin in particular found himself stuck on it, wishing the solution could be as easy as that. Part of him knows that he took his life at the palace for granted, that he would do anything to get it back at any cost.

“The second idea was to sneak our way in using abandoned passageways. Infiltrate the place with a disguise and take Hyunjin out old style. Changbin would eventually break into an entire speech about how he isn’t actually dead and that Hyunjin framed me, and so on,” he explains. “Definitely more tricky, but less chance of getting caught.”

Jisung looks back up at the three of them. “Our ‘plan b’ was to run. Changbin suggested the bordering kingdoms, but I thought it’d be better if we simply disappeared. Turned the trail cold before it was too late.”

Changbin remembers Jisung being particularly fond of this idea. Changbin didn’t dare to voice it out loud, but he guesses that deep down, Jisung is just as scared of Hyunjin as he is, if not more. Breaking away from the person who basically raised you is never easy, and Changbin aches for him.

Jisung clears his throat when he’s met with silence, no longer looking at them.

“Of course, that’s a last-ditch effort,” Jisung clarifies, filling the empty space. “Neither one of us were sure about going through with it, even though it’s what I initially told Changbin we had to do.”

Chan nods along, his face masked by an expression of indifference. Felix glances between the three of them, looking at Chan and then back towards their way. He doesn’t say anything, but Changbin can tell that he wants to.

“Well?” Changbin gestures haphazardly at Chan and Felix. “Got anything better?”

Chan starts drawing the map again. “How many people would you need on your side to feel comfortable launching a full-frontal assault?”

Jisung pauses to consider the question. Changbin doesn’t even bother—they don’t know enough about how many people are working for Hyunjin in the palace to dissect it fully. He catches Felix’s eye, and realizes that they might know more than he previously thought.

“Oh!” Changbin exclaims. “I think I figured out your plan. A part of it, at least.”

He pauses briefly. “Felix is your informant, right? He knows who is in the place and who isn’t, where Hyunjin is and what he’s up to. You’re going to use whatever he knows to your advantage.”

Chan smiles, pointing the end of the broken branch towards Changbin.

“Exactly.” He gets back to drawing, this time with guards and security. “As far as Felix knows, the entire security detail of the palace was swapped out and replaced. We’re operating under the assumption that they work for Hyunjin. The rest of the palace staff are okay—no recent replacements that Felix knows of.

Jisung frowns. “I don’t see how that helps us. More guards would only make things even more difficult for us. You wanna go into the palace, don’t you? I already said we don’t have enough people.”

Chan and Felix share a meaningful look, silence pouring into the space between them. If Jisung notices, he doesn’t let it show. 

“True. A team of four people definitely increases our chances, but not enough. What if I got in touch with my contacts though?” Chan asks. “Would that make you feel more comfortable in going directly after Hyunjin?”

Jisung’s eyebrows pinch together, and Changbin cannot tell if he thinks this is a decent idea or absolutely god-awful. Most days, he is a closed book, shut off from the rest of the world and their prying eyes. Today is not an exception.

“I don’t know,” he finally says. “How skilled are your contacts? I’ve been training Changbin, but it’s not like time has been on our side lately. And Felix...do you even have any combat training?”

Chan leans forward a bit, the drawing of the map already forgotten. He doesn’t give Felix much of a chance to respond. “My contacts are some of the best. Not all of them are assassins, but they know what they’re doing. As for Felix, we’ve been practicing. Not a lot, of course, but he can pack a punch.”

Felix nods, a little too eagerly, but Changbin doesn’t say anything. (How times have changed them all, like waves eroding coastlines and grains of sand slipping through fingers). 

“Yeah?” Jisung bites at his lip, chewing nervously. It’s a strange look on him. Changbin is used to seeing him put together and relaxed, not frayed and folding in on himself. “What do you think our odds are, then?”

Chan hesitates. “I’d say there’s about a 60/40 chance we end up being successful. You know I can’t say anything for sure, but you also know I never let anything go unfinished.”

“Do you have any other plans, or is it just the one?” Changbin blurts out before Jisung can cough up a response. “I’d like to weigh all of my options first.”

Felix smiles grimly, shaking his head. “Just the one. Like you guys, we couldn’t find an easy way out of this situation. Hyunjin has us all pinned, even if we have yet to realize it.”

Changbin frowns at the reminder. Part of him wants to try running, just for a bit longer, to see how it’ll all work out. It might be the fear talking, clouding his mind and making him doubt their capabilities. He can’t tell anymore.

The other part of him is desperate to fall behind a leader, someone who knows what to do and does not carry uncertainty with them. He does not care where it takes him as long as blood flows through his veins and life blooms within his ribcage. As long as Jisung is alive and by his side, followed by Felix and Chan.

(Time is a funny thing. It has etched a river of pain down the crook of his spine and made him realize what he holds dear to his heart).

“Nothing sounds good at this point,” Changbin finally confesses. He’s running out of arguments and flaws to point out. “I don’t care. I’ll do whatever. I’ll run if I have to and I’ll fight by your side. I swear on it.”

By Jisung’s side, he means. There is no one else he’d rather stick with.

“Yeah?” Chan raises an eyebrow, and Changbin can’t tell if the look in his eyes scares or excites him.

Jisung simply says, “Careful what you promise an assassin. You never know what they’re gonna make you do.”

He’s smiling, a dry sort of smile that soaks up any lingering nerves. Felix glances between the both of them, a sentence on the tip of his tongue that is swallowed up by hesitation and nothing more.

Changbin smiles back despite himself. “Are you in, Jisung?”

“Kinda hard to back out when you swore on it, no?” A sharper smile this time. Changbin accepts them the way he would penny candy, pocketing it with a sigh of relief and a dizzying sort of sweetness.

Around them, the fire flickers into the night, flames consuming bits of branches and smoke seeping into their clothes. Changbin fans the flames with a branch of his own and thinks that it is quite similar to the flicker of hope building in his chest.

All it takes is a match and a bit of kindle to spark a flame. Changbin’s heart is already roaring to life from the prospect of Chan leading a charge and there’s no turning back. Not anymore.


End file.
